


Man with an Addiction

by mortianna



Category: Trance (2013)
Genre: Alternative Perspective, Explicit Smut, F/M, Plot, Some Plot, better ending, james mcavoy movie, some smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:21:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27528346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mortianna/pseuds/mortianna
Summary: Simon has a gambling problem. His job as an auctioneer gets him into the country and big things. A beautiful lady, come on, you all know what's gonna happen. Or not?! Simon is a tough cookie, written from his point of view. More fun if you have seen the movie by Danny Boyle and just hated the ending as Mr. M never looked more adorably sweet. Couldnt be trusted though. Lots of references to other McAvoy work and interviews, I'm afraid.
Relationships: Simon Newton/original female character





	Man with an Addiction

„Simon, are you free?“   
He nearly jumped off his chair. His boss! Fuck! He never came at that time of the day. Now he was   
deep into this game. He couldn’t just leave, all his money was on the table. But he had to, he needed   
this job, it was the only thing that was – normal in his life. Real. And fuck he needed the little money   
it paid.   
He closed the laptop. Gone. All gone. His blood still boiled from the adrenaline. This time, this time, it   
might just have worked out. He tried to calm down his breathing and putting on his usual workface,   
of clever but not too clever friendly young man, who knew what to do but was no menace to anyone.   
He even found his voice, the voice he had trained so long and now could use with good results on   
anyone. He was angry as fuck but knew, when he turned around now, that this slightly ironic but   
docile enough soft smile was on his face. He had often heard that soft was the adjective most people   
put on him and he was always happy to hear that. Meant his mimicry worked.   
The boss. Docile himself as shit. With a woman. Phew, hot. Hot but refined. Expensive clothes.   
Showing the curves of her body but not offensively. Secretive, this one. Nice. Perhaps this day wasn’t   
as bad as he had just thought.   
“Yes?”, he asked and stood up, nodding his head in what might be a mockery of ancient greeting,   
then said: “Hello, I’m Simon Newton. What can I do for you?”, trying to let his eyes show a bit more   
than just that question but not much more. She smiled, a thin smile that let her face shine though.   
Money. Money and years of repression. Interesting. Another game. Fuck the money. Okay, wrong   
train of thought just now, Simon.   
“Simon, this is Lady Montague. She is, for reasons that are none of our business, in urgent need to   
sell some of her very exclusive paintings. I know this comes rather sudden, but these are paintings   
that are … we speak of something really old and valuable and it is of utmost importance that we do it   
fast. And don’t talk about it”.   
The woman moved and looked Simon over now with a gaze he rather wanted to slap out of her face.   
“I still don’t understand why you can’t come yourself but send an – employee”. She made that word   
sound like something rotten. Ohoh, that would be fun, her accent was of the highest British posh   
order, niece of the Queen or some such rubbish.   
“I told you Milady, I’m really devastated, but urgent affairs I have arranged months ago make my   
staying here obligatory”, the old fart said. Simon kept his face straight – the old fart didn’t do the   
work himself, couldn’t anymore, he lived by rumours that he had sorted the Queen’s belongings and   
his new young men. Him –basically.   
“I assure you that young Simon here is able to fulfill your every need”. Simon raised an eyebrow in   
mild annoyance – well, pretended mild annoyance, on the inside he was rather pissed off and highly   
amused at the same time. Young Master Simon at your service, Milady. He was really longing to see   
these pictures. Must be something really great if the boss nearly pissed himself.   
The woman could do that eyebrow thing just as well. Perhaps it was in her blood, thousands of years   
of arrogance whereas he had had to learn it. The hard way. Those people knew no hard way. “I truly   
hope so, Mycroft. Otherwise I would be quite – disappointed”. And then the world would just fall   
apart, Simon thought. To think of that, imagine it, Milady might be disappointed. He was not so sure   
at all as to what his job would be. Could he talk to the boss before they left? No, Milady gave strong   
signs of not wanting to wait any longer for her subaltern help. Okay, flight at sight. He could do that.   
He loved doing that. Made it at least a bit interesting.   
The boss laid a hand on his shoulder now and looked him deep into the eyes. “Simon, I trust you”. He   
kept a straight face. Barely. As if the man had any other choice. He had to trust him. Too bad for him.   
“Can we leave now?”, the lady said now barely disguising her contempt. But there was something   
else, Simon felt it, he was quite sensitive, he felt peoples’ needs. Not that he was going to fulfill   
them, but it was always nice to see where people stood. And the arrogant ones were at least   
interesting game. He wasn’t sure what it was, underneath the lady’s clothes and her arrogance but   
was sure to find out. He was good at that sport too, talking and eying them out of their clothes and   
making them think they had wanted that from the start.   
“Yes”, he smiled, “we can leave now”, and taking his jacket from the chair, nodded to the boss – yes   
boss, you can trust me, just do, I can do this – and they left the building. There was a limo waiting for   
her, just like that, with a driver and a front seat where some bags from expensive shops were   
deposited, so he had to sit with Milady in the back of the car, which she didn’t seem to like much. In   
her eyes he was not much more than a servant and those belonged to the driver in front. But she was   
sensible enough not to say that and so they sat there in silence and it seemed to last for hours until   
they had left the City and reached that land where the rich and famous or the old nobility and gentry   
lived.   
He hadn’t seen that much green since his childhood. Yes, nice way of living that was. But it seemed,   
not everything was coming up roses here. It was a huge old building, not quite a castle but close and   
the surrounding park was as big as a county, but it smelled of negligence. Yes, they needed money   
here and quickly.   
The driver let them out at the big entrance, he thought there would be a servant to open the door   
but wasn’t. She opened the door with a key, after the driver had opened the door of the car for her.   
She looked back at Simon as if she would kill him if he asked, he didn’t dream of doing that. Not now,   
maybe later, if it so happened and fit in nicely. She let the bags fall down in the hallway and moved   
up the staircase, broad, old, stony, rotten. Her hips moved in her skirt and her ass… Well yes, she was   
a rich bitch but she was hot.   
She led him into a large dark cold room, looked like something on the telly really, in these films his   
mother was so fond of. Yes, normally the boss would have sent someone else for this or had gone   
himself and talk the people into sending them into the auctions house where someone else would   
have done the work, but okay, this was it now, and it was his. All of it. They depended on his   
expertise.   
“What are we talking about?”, he asked rather briskly, he was eager, yes, but more he wanted to get   
on with it in this way to catch her off guard, to play the game, to see, what this was all about in   
reality. It wasn’t just she needed the money, was it? And did she have no husband to do the talking?   
She gave him an evil look that went straight into his – no, that was not possible, he wasn’t into   
humiliation, not at all. Must be the eyes. These large dark almondshaped eyes. Not British at all to   
have such eyes. She didn’t answer, perhaps below her that question, he would have to do that again,   
probing, looking for the real thing behind appearances, but she opened a red velvet curtain of all   
things. Behind it was … "No”, said Simon and moved forward as if drawn on a string. “That can’t be it   
– it was stolen, years ago”.   
He shouldn’t have said that. He knew as he said it. He should have left that for the end, for after he   
had done his show with looking and sniffing and tasting etcetera. Or he shouldn’t have said anything   
at all. Was that what his boss hadn’t told him? The old fart. Like really, what was he supposed to do?   
“For the moment it would be enough if you told me if it is the real thing, stolen or not, thank you”,   
the woman said coolly. He raised his eyebrows. Stolen or not? That didn’t sound like true adherence   
to the law, did it? Well, did the Rich ever? Prejudices were prejudices because the things they judged   
had happened, pre or prior. “That’s an easy thing to say, a bit harder to do”, he said, and took his   
bag. “But you can do it?” He didn’t look at her, the picture had now caught his attention completely,   
but he nodded. “Of course I can. Can I have more light, please?” He had a lamp with him but he   
always liked to keep clients busy, they felt better with that.   
So she brought him light and he started to work. Well, he did all the stuff that was needed but more   
than that he trusted his feelings. And those screamed: Yes, this is the real thing! But he did his thing   
dutifully. Yes. As far as he could tell – yes. He felt – elated. This was – really something.   
He turned around. She stood directly behind him. His nose poked hers. They both drew away. But …   
There was tension in the air. Tension from more than just the picture. What had she done? Looked at   
his ass all the time instead of his hands on the picture as she should have? As he had thought from   
the beginning. Negligence. And no husband in sight.   
“Tea?”, she asked coolly. He was taken aback but nodded. She went away. And came back. Had   
redressed. Some kind of dress. Slippery silk. Wow. Did that have anything to do with the work he was   
supposed to do here? Which was exactly what?   
Okay he had been wrong. There was at least one servant, a woman who now brought the tea and   
some sweet stuff and sandwiches. He didn’t care much for tea. He was a modern man, he drank   
coffee. And other things. But he played by the rules. As yet. Tea was served in a small corner of the   
room, by the window, old-fashioned table, old fashioned chairs, not his area of expertise but quite   
something.   
She poured the tea, and put one of each of the chinoisery on a plate and gave it to him. This house   
was so silent, like nobody ever talked here. He didn’t. Something had changed. He wasn’t quite sure   
what it was, but… She would have to start. She had, in a way with this tea. He hadn’t been the one   
for tea in the beginning, he had been something of a handyman. Now …   
“Is it the original?”, she asked, blowing on her cup before drinking. He found that strange, he had   
never seen the Queen do that, but then again, when did he see her? His mouth was full of that   
awfully sweet pink stuff, he could barely talk and for a moment he believed she had done that   
knowingly, to bring him into some kind of embarrassing situation.   
He took his time to chew. Took a sip of the tea. Was silent. He had learnt that early on. And his poker   
face wasn’t as bad as they said. “Yes”, he said, leaning onto the table, “would you like to tell me how   
you got it?” “I most definitely would not”, she shot back, her eyes glaring, cheeks flushed. “Can you   
tell me how much money it would make? And how fast you could do that?” Ah, it was him now? He   
was to save her? Not by her rules, he played by his own. He was in charge.   
He moved around a bit in his chair and then looked at her full frontal, he knew his eyes could do   
things. She blinked. Okay. Yes. Here we go, Simon. “That depends”, he said. She must surely know   
that and didn’t need him to tell her that, did she? “Theoretically speaking, if I weren’t an employee at   
my auctions house – which I am, and if I knew persons who wanted to buy that special painting and   
didn’t want anybody to know – which I don’t, of course, then it depended on how good we – that   
theoretical we that doesn’t exist – negotiated and how bad that fictional person wanted it – we could   
get 5 Million Pounds. Theoretically speaking.”   
She gulped. Her face was flushed even more. “And when we pretend for a moment this theoretical   
approach wasn’t possible?” She crossed her legs now differently, his gaze was drawn in between. No.   
No no no no no. He wasn’t going there. But that woman could play her cards, truth be told.   
He leant back in his chair and put his hands beside his head. Classical gorilla pose. Ridiculous really,   
but worked. She started to play with her long brown hair that shone as if there were lights in it.   
“Then it’s worth nothing at all”, he said and even if she must have been sure of that, must have   
known, the blow hit her, she closed her eyes and her throat moved. Nice one. “We would have, have   
to really, call the police and tell them. And they care for the rest. It is jail for someone then and   
perhaps a reward for someone else. Do you now want to tell me how you came by this painting?”   
She crossed her legs again. He wouldn’t look, no, that was about as cheap as his Gorilla pose. Really,   
did she think he would fall for that? Come one. He was way above those easy tricks. The proposal she   
had not yet made though … that was really interesting. “No”, she said, “I really don’t want to do that.   
Or do you – insist?”   
Okay. He tried not to gulp. “I don’t insist on anything, madam”, he said, knowing full well how really   
insulting that was, she was older than him, but not old enough to be his mother, “I am only here to –   
what was it I came for? I am sorry, but I don’t really understand. The painting is the original, it’s   
worth millions, but under the circumstances … Should I leave you now?”   
They stared at each other. He was ready to leave, really he was, even if he could look into her wrap   
dress from above and below and it was not bad at all what he looked at. And he was not talking   
underwear here, cause, hell and back, there was none. None at all. Holy bloody fucking shit. “No”,   
she said and moved these long legs again, “I think you shouldn’t. You’d get 20 percent. It looked to   
me as if you just lost a considerable sum.”   
He gave a faint laugh but his heart raced and his mind went berserk. How could she… Did she know?   
Why? She had seen it. But she couldn’t mean it. Well, of course he knew of people every man with   
his job worth his salt did, but… The big question was – could he pull it off? And not be caught? And   
biggest question of all – could he trust her? He thought later, he should have given more attention to   
that question. Instead he said: “Twenty percent if I do all the work, have the connections and   
everything? In this theoretical case, I’d rather think fifty-fifty would come closer”.   
She got up. And looked at him. She had the eyes of a lioness, a tigress, a catlike, feline animal.   
Coming at him, wanting to eat him up alive. He swallowed. She saw it and smiled. And then she   
moved again, that fucking dress opened up to her naked and shaven vulva and she smiled more as   
she saw his reactions, the one in his face, in his throat and the one further down, and sat down onto   
him. He made a mumbled incoherent noise and came. In his pants. Like a thirteen year old.   
She smiled again. “I take that as a yes to my – proposal. Let’s take this elsewhere, shall we?” And she   
led him to her bedroom, onto a big fourposter that looked like something out of Shakespeare. And   
while he showed her that that hadn’t been all he had to give with a little help from her side – she had   
the most astonishing lips and her tongue could do things he wouldn’t have imagined a close relative   
to the crown would even know in theory. But she wasn’t theoretical, not at all.   
And she was no relative of the Queen. Her absent husband was. And he was absent because he had   
at last, 60 years of age, succumbed to the taste he had acquired at Eton, shagging or be shagged by   
men that was. And he had bought or whatever acquired the painting and she wanted to get that out   
because he loved it and she wanted to hurt him and wanted some money on the side should he   
decide to divorce her. Because then he would pull the strings and let her go without money, he could   
do that, he knew the rules and she was just an American dancer he had married.   
He didn’t believe all of that, he was no idiot, but he didn’t care much. She was hot as fuck and did   
exactly that and, fuck it, he had gambling debts that he would never be able to cover and yes, the   
whole package was just too attractive for a gambler.   
“So”, she said to him, looking down on him, licking her lips and throwing back her long hair over her   
sweat glistening shoulder, “how are we going to do this?” He was sure she didn’t mean this here and   
now exactly, even if he would have had something to say to the way in which she again sat on him   
and restrained him with her hands that were surprisingly strong so that he couldn’t move, couldn’t   
move against her, while she constricted around him as if she had nothing to do with him and what   
they were doing, he felt – used and that felt hot and he was hard as a rock the third time around but   
he didn’t trust her one bit and then again, oh, how that felt when she dug her nails into his chest and   
pinched his nipples. He groaned and tried to move, but her thighs were as strong as his and he had   
never experienced anything the like, he was in her and that felt heavenly but he had to move,   
needed to move now, now. Now!   
He told her. She couldn’t do anything without him, he was the expert, he had the contacts, she   
needed him. She smiled and moved her head forward and down onto his and kissed him, her thighs   
opening up, and he moved, moved at last, thrust into her and she laughed, triumphantly and he   
looked up to her has he came, at last, thrusting till the very last drop and felt her coming too, looking   
down on him, not losing anything of her composure, she was the wild goddess of his dreams, the   
naked hairless Queen of his imagination. And that picture was fucking good too.   
It was not difficult. He knew where to place hints that the painting was on the market. There were   
certain difficulties as to secrecy and trust, he had to keep a low profile at work, making up a story   
about a lesser painting she gave him to sell on the open market in their auctions house. In not more   
than a month it was all signed and sealed – only that of course there was no such thing as a contract.   
He saw Mary, Lady Montague, every other day. She came to the auctions house to talk with his boss   
about the other picture. That’s when they met, in a hotel a few blocks away. It was mad, it was hot,   
he loved it. He knew he was on the way to a new addiction but, fuck, what was life about? He never   
went back to her place, and he never took her to his place, no, that just wasn’t the kind of   
relationship, this was about the picture. And sex. There was nothing more about it. Meanwhile he   
had two, maybe three big names interested. Russian, Arab, Chinese, that’s where the money was   
nowadays. He never met the guys, until the Russian made it. Taken together, his was the best bid.   
Now came the day for the actual exchange. And he wasn’t sure how to pull it off. But he was told of   
course. The money would be on his bank account, part of it. First step. Then he was to give someone   
the painting. Second step. Then she was to receive the rest of the money. Her idea. Sounded all good   
in theory, but went wrong. Awfully wrong. Landing him in hospital, flat gone, no painting, no money   
kind of wrong.   
And he was alone. Nobody visited him. His boss had sent a note that obviously he had done   
something dubious in that alley to be beaten up like that and that he couldn’t have an employee   
doing that radarada. So when he came out of hospital, a week after he had entered it, unconscious,   
he was alone. No job, no flat, no one. Just like he loved it. Beginning anew. There was no use trying   
to get after the Russians, he knew that. That had been a warning. Next time he would be dead. And   
sad as that was, he loved his life. He could begin anew. He had done that before. At first he had   
hated it but then it had become more and more the spice of life to him. Would he stay in London or   
go elsewhere, he didn’t know. First he had to get the stuff out of his apartment.   
They had been there, too. He didn’t know why, made no sense, but perhaps that was just their   
friendly way of showing him they were stronger than him. Well, he had known that all along. He   
grabbed his laptop and some clothes in a garbage bag and wanted to leave, leave, go away. When he   
turned around, she was directly behind him. In front of him, now. He gasped. She just stood. Looked   
at him. He had a déjà vu – it had been like this when they met – he had turned around, she was   
directly behind him. Then it had begun.   
And now it ended? Where did she have his address from? His soon to be ex-address? And – bigger   
question even – why? There was no money, there was no painting. Oh, there was. Or she thought   
there was. Because the Russian had withdrawn the money he had paid. He had nothing. But of   
course she was here because she thought… “Going somewhere?”, she asked. She looked gorgeous.   
She always did. If a bit – swollen around the eyes. Same dress even. The open one. How had she   
come here? Oh what did it matter? Nothing mattered anymore.   
He grabbed her and pushed her against the next door. She seemed to fight him, but then, when he   
crushed his lips onto hers, she gave in. He hadn’t known, would never have imagined, how he had   
missed her. Her body. How could he ever leave her, this kind of perfection was highly addictive and   
he would, never, ever get anything the like. Just once, once more, on the shattered remnants of his   
ex-life. He moved down to his knees, his hands following the curves of her body, then they pushed up   
the dress and his mouth was on her naked skin. Again. Déjà vu, but what a great one that was. He   
held her hips and licked her, drank her as she was already giving her fluids freely, and moaned, and   
groaned and pushed her hands through his hair. Never before had she been that – eager on the   
passive side.   
He licked her thoroughly, on her vulva, around and about, her lips, then pushed his tongue against   
her growing visible knob, licking it, sucking at it, pushing one, no two, make that three fingers inside   
her, her walls, and she bucked her hips against him, his mouth, his tongue and groaned and said:   
“Simon” and he was hard so hard and his heart hurt, and she pulled him up, and he followed her lead   
once again, as she murmured, into his neck: “Come inside me, I need to feel you, now”, and he did it,   
just opened his fly and entered her, and she grabbed his ass with one hand and let the other roam   
about his upper body, as if she really loved it, loved him, but that wasn’t the case, he knew that, she   
played at something, she wanted the money, but he didn’t have it and as soon as she knew, she   
would be gone, so this would be the last time, so make it good, Simon, make it last, only that her   
caressing hand on his chest, his nipples and the hand caressing his arse made it so hard to not believe   
there were feelings involved, not that he was, involved, cause he wasn’t, but, oh, and when her walls   
clamped around him, his hard cock, to make him go on and because she came, she came again, it was   
a wonder how she did that, with him, she had told him, she had never before been so, he groaned,   
and put his hands at the wall close to her head and pushed and thrust and didn’t notice that he cried,   
until later, when he had finished with a last hard thrust, and she had her hands now around his neck,   
the fingers in his hair and caressed him and kissed his cheek, just as…   
And then she told him. “Come with me”, she said and showed him the tickets. “Let’s go someplace   
nice”. It was a place in the Caribbean. He looked at her dumbfounded. She laughed, he had never   
seen her like this before, like a child, grabbed his hand and said: “Let’s go, I’ll tell you in the car. Or   
would you rather stay? Or go someplace else – alone? Your choice, you know”.   
And there she was again, the tough cookie he had come to know. But now he knew, knew her,   
better, and knew it was only a mask. No, but only part of her. She could live in the world and play the   
games but she really had kept a sacred place within. To which she had invited him now. Plus, she had   
the money. As she told him in the car, on the way to Heathrow. She hadn’t trusted him, in the first   
place. Then she hadn’t trusted the Russian and had been right with that. She had met him and made   
him give her the money, just how she had done that she didn’t tell and he didn’t ask, he had an idea,   
but that was none of his business. In short – she, they were fucking rich now and she didn’t intend to   
spend the rest of her days in that lousy castle pretending she was the faithful wife of a cheating   
arsehole of a husband and spend the money on his family castle. No. Nope. No sir.   
He laughed, laughed again, then kissed her and still couldn’t believe it. She could have gone, take the   
money and leave, without him, just like that. But the way she kissed him, moved into him, his body,   
was acting of the highest order or – some kind of feeling. He rather hoped it was the latter. He had   
fooled himself long enough into believing he didn’t feel anything beyond that what a part of him was   
feeling. And that couldn’t really be called feeling. Only that he did. Feel. They kissed like they had   
never done that or anything else before and when they left the car, she said goodbye to the driver,   
he asked her. He had to know.   
“Did you, do you I mean, why?”, he stammered and called himself an idiot. She smiled sweetly at him   
and put a hand on his backside, letting it slide down onto his buttocks. “Because you have the   
sweetest looking backside I ever saw in my life”. Then she touched his front shortly without caring to   
look if anyone was watching. “And the rest isn’t that bad either. Plus you really give the best hand-  
and mouthjob I ever had”.   
He was dumbfounded but took that as the nearest thing to a declaration of undying love he was   
going to get. And was happy enough with that. After all, his own feelings had been induced by her   
naked shaven vulva, so who was he to talk? Nobody, and that nobody now was going to live in   
paradise with a fantastic woman and enough spare money for one or two… “No gambling anymore”,   
she said, “as soon as you start on that again, it’s over. I won’t let you spend our hard-earned money   
on that shite. I’ll give you lots of other things to do so you won’t get bored”. And she took his hand   
and led it to her place, again not caring if anybody looked, and he thought, dreamily and aroused   
again: Okay, I can live with that. And he could. The end

**Author's Note:**

> Change of directions quite often? Yeah, but not as bad as in the movie. Was quite happy with it. If you like, leave a thingy. Thank you!!!


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